The Same Colours
by Mi-chan7879
Summary: After hearing that England gets sick every year around his birthday, America decides to go help him feel better, in hopes that they can celebrate together for once. But England is having none if it. Rated T for language and drinking.  Not yaoi.
1. Chapter 1: The Irritating Former Colony

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters. Or Harry Potter (just saying).**

A/N: This is a USUK friendship story, and isn't meant to be yaoi or shonen-ai. Also, I use country names, just because it feels more canon (I've only read the web-comics.) If people would rather I use human names, I can change it; let me know.

A/N 2: This takes place about a year after the "Happy Birthday!" web-comic. I'm dating it 2007, just because it works best for the plot. (I have no idea when the web-comic was written, but in my happy world, it was 2006. :D )

**OoOoOoO**

**Chapter 1: The Irritating Former Colony**

**June 30**

England had just sat down with a cup of tea to settle his nerves. He had been feeling unwell for two days now, and this morning he had woken up with a headache that had yet to completely fade, because of drinking too much the night before. He hoped he might be able to distract himself with a good book—something very British, with no mention whatsoever of his irritating former colony—when there was a knock on his front door. Grumbling to himself, he went to answer it, and who should be at the door… but his irritating former colony?

England's stomach clenched and he immediately felt sicker. "What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded.

America flinched a little. "Ah… well…." He suddenly looked very nervous, but his smile came back almost immediately. "When you came to my birthday party last year, you said you were sick for a week beforehand every year." He rubbed his neck. "So I thought maybe if I came and took care of you and helped you feel better for a few days, you might feel well enough to come to my party and actually enjoy yourself."

England stared at him. "What on earth are you on about, you git?" he asked. "Why would you even want me to go to your bloody party?"

America shrugged. "I invite you every year."

"Yes, you bloody well do," England huffed. "Rub my face in it every bloody year, what with your stars and stripes all over the invitation—even the bloody envelope…."

America laughed. "Iggy, they _all_ look like that."

"Don't call me that!"

"Fine, Mr. United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Are you going to let me in?"

"No," England replied, and shut the door in his face. He sat back down on the sofa, nerves severely rattled, and took a sip of tea, which had gotten cool. "Bloody hell," he muttered. He was too tired to make another cup of tea. After a minute or so, there was another knock. England pointedly ignored it, and went back to his book.

Five minutes later, his mobile phone vibrated in his pocket, and he opened the text message without thinking to see who it was from. The message read:

**Its raining out here.**

Bloody git didn't even know how to use punctuation. England sent a message back:

**Go home, then.**

He received one back almost immediately:

**No.**

England set the phone on the table and went back to his book. America was not a patient man. He would give up eventually. He read for about fifteen minutes before he noticed the rain was picking up. Sighing, he looked at the door. Surely America had given up by now… and yet….

England got up and quietly went to the door and looked out the peep hole. America was still standing there, trying to keep under the veranda so he would stay dry. The git even had a small suitcase with him, as if he fully expected England to let him stay for several days. The nerve! England huffed a sigh and sat back down. The git could stay there until doomsday for all he cared.

He had barely read a sentence when the rain picked up again, coupled with the wind. He sighed again. This was so bloody irritating, but he couldn't very well leave America to catch a cold. Well, he supposed he _could_, but then he'd feel guilty, even if it really was America's own bloody fault.

He went to the door and opened it. America looked at him hopefully. "Fine," he said. "You can bloody come in and stay until the rain stops."

"Thanks!" America said fervently, and stepped inside. He took off his shoes and hung up his jacket, which was unusually conscientious of him. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Terrible," England replied, sourly.

"Aww, come on, Iggy, don't be like that. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You can stop calling me that ridiculous nickname to begin with," England said, sitting down with a regretful glance at his book. He massaged his temples. "If you're so anxious to be useful, find me two aspirin and a glass of water. The medicine is above the stove, and the glasses are in the cupboard to the right of the sink."

"Sure thing," America replied, and procured them. "Um… you want some more tea?"

"Do you know how to make tea?" England asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Of course; you taught me."

England remembered. He also remembered the Boston Tea Party, America's first act of rebellion, and his refusal to drink tea afterward. He glared at the coffee table. "Then make me some bloody tea."

America went backing go the kitchen and England hesitantly went back to his book. To his surprise, America came back about fifteen minutes later with a pot of tea, a creamer, a bowl of sugar cubes, and two cups. "Those were dirty," he said.

"I washed them," America replied. He poured each of them a cup of tea and offered England the cream and sugar. England accepted the former and watched America put no less than three sugar cubes in his own tea. Rolling his eyes, England sipped his tea, then looked at it in surprise. It was… good.

"Do you like it?" America asked, sounding a bit nervous.

"It's not bad," England replied after another sip. "How often do you drink tea?"

"Uh…." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, honestly, Canada sort of gave me a refresher course before I came."

This only made England more confused. Why would America have practiced making tea for England?

"I knew how to make a cup already, though," America said, a bit defensively.

"Then why…?"

"I thought you'd like a pot better."

England took another drink of his tea. He did like it better in pots, but hadn't been able to motivate himself to make one. He looked at America over the rim of the cup. When had the obnoxious git become so thoughtful? Realizing he was in danger of being mollified over a simple cup of tea, England set down the cup and looked at America suspiciously. "So, what is this really about?"

"I told you," America replied. "Last year—"

"Yes, I know what you told me," England replied. "And I want to know why you're so eager for me to go to a celebration to commemorate the day you decided you hate me."

"I don't hate you, Ig—England," America said. "I like you."

"Really," England said sarcastically. "Then why this bloody celebration?"

"Because it's my birthday," America said, pleadingly. "It's when I became a country."

"By separating from me."

"Well…." America spread his hands in a "what can I do?" sort of gesture.

"Do you do this to all of your guests who don't show up?" England asked.

"No."

"Why me?"

"Because I want you to come especially."

"Why?"

America paused. "It's… difficult to explain. I'd rather not when you're like this."

"Like what?"

"Angry at me."

"I'm not angry."

"Yeah, you are. We can talk about it later."

"How bloody long do you think you're staying, you git?" England demanded.

America looked out the window and shrugged. He turned to England with a smile that was not _quite_ cheeky. "It's always raining in England."

"It bloody well is _not_!"

America's smile became gentler. "You're not feeling well. Why don't you relax, drink your tea, and read for a while?"

England blinked. America would let him read? "And what will you do?"

"Also read. I brought a book."

"Really…."

"Oh, and I brought some things for fish and chips… do you mind if I make dinner?"

The words "fish and chips" made England's mouth water, and he frowned at America. "Are you doing all this to avoid being punched?"

America laughed. "No. Though I'd appreciate it."

"Do what you want, just clean up after yourself. And hadn't you better put the fish in the refrigerator?"

"Oh, right, forgot." He went and got the fish and a book out of his suitcase.

"Idiot," England muttered, too quietly for America to hear. He poured himself another cup of tea and opened his book again. America sat down with his book and began to read. England looked over and saw that it was _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_. Well, at least the git had good taste.

America kept quiet, and England was able to go back to his book and actually enjoy it, particularly with the tea. Aside from refilling the pot, America hardly moved, though he did change from his book to his laptop at some point and asked England for the password to his router. England smiled a little to himself. It was the first time in a very long time he felt relaxed in America's presence.

After a while, America went back into the kitchen, and soon the sounds and smells of cooking came out. England wondered whether he ought to help, then decided not to worry about it. He didn't know when America had started eating fish and chips, and vaguely wondered if this wasn't another thing he'd recently learned from Canada, but America seemed perfectly confident that he could cook it without incident.

America turned out beautiful fish and chips, and England was actually inclined to forgive him for showing up unannounced, particularly when he set the table with wine—that _he_ had brought—and a candle. It all felt so very… orderly and comfortable. Except that sitting across from America was just a bit awkward. He took a bite of his fish and closed his eyes. It was perfect. "Thank you," he said without thinking.

America smiled brightly. "You're welcome."

"Who taught you to make fish and chips?"

"Um… Canada."

England raised an eyebrow. "Did he tell you to come here."

"No." America looked confused by the question.

"All the same, he seems involved."

America shrugged, and looked just a bit… guarded for a moment. But then he shrugged a little. "I told him I thought you weren't feeling well, and asked what he thought would make you feel better. He said you liked tea, fish and chips, and curry rice… which I'll make tomorrow night if you let me stay that long."

England's eyebrow went up again. "Don't push it."

America only smiled a little, as if he knew he'd have his way in the end. England hated to admit it… but he probably would. Oh well… curry rice did sound good. But at the moment, he addressed himself to his fish and chips.

America left the table shortly before they were finished and came back a moment later with a wrapped gift. "This is for you," he said.

England looked at it in confusion. "It's your birthday."

"It's not a birthday present. It's a 'get well soon' present."

Cautiously, England opened it. It seemed to be a DVD. When he pulled it out of the packaging, he blinked. It was _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. "How… did you get this? It won't even be in theaters for almost two weeks."

"Yeah… but you don't like theaters, right? Especially crowded ones?"

It was true. Everyone was always driven mad by the fact that England preferred to wait until movies came out on video to seeing them in the cinema. If it wasn't crowded, it wasn't too bad, but he didn't like waiting. "You got this… so I could watch it at home… _before_ it comes on in theaters?"

"Yes."

"How?"

America shrugged. "I know some people in Hollywood." He smiled. "We could watch it together, when you're feeling up to it… if you want to."

"Wouldn't you rather see it in theaters?"

He shrugged again. "I can see it in theaters later."

England supposed he didn't mind finishing his book the next day. "We can watch it tonight."

"Really?" America asked, sounding overjoyed. He did seem to enjoy sharing Harry Potter with England, and for a moment, England was really touched. He smiled and finished his fish and chips.

Half an hour later, after America had insisted on washing the dishes himself, they sat down to watch the movie with a fresh pot of tea and a bowl of popcorn—courtesy of America. "I'm beginning to wonder if you have any clothes in that suitcase," England said.

America shrugged. "I'm a good packer, what can I say?" He put the DVD into the player and sat down beside England with a smile. England mentally resigned himself to the fact that the movie would _not_ be identical to the book, and he needed to appreciate it for what it was. It would probably be bloody brilliant anyways—it was difficult to go wrong with Harry Potter.

The movie _was _brilliant, and England thoroughly enjoyed it, until the depiction of Fred and George's rebellion. Fireworks. England's smile vanished in a trice as he watched Fred and George set off fireworks and declare their independence from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after Professor Umbridge's latest intolerable act. He pressed his lips together as they flew off on their brooms in a blaze of glory, reached for the remote, and turned the television off.

America, whose full attention had been on the television, jumped, and looked at England. "What… did you…?"

England stood up. "I'm going to bed."

"What?" He looked annoyed. "What's up? That was the best part!"

"Was it?" England asked evenly. "I suppose you _would_ think so."

America seemed to sense danger. "Um… what's wrong?"

"Fireworks?" England asked, stressing the word.

America looked confused, then annoyed again. He lifted an eyebrow. "You don't even like fireworks now?"

"Isn't it just like you bloody Americans… Fred and George, declaring their independence with _fireworks_."

"Iggy, that part's in the book."

"It is _not_. There are no fireworks in the book. They are put there to spite the British."

"Uh… don't you think you're taking this a bit…?"

"If you say 'personally,' I'll box your ears."

America smiled a little. "Come on, Iggy… sit back down."

"No!"

"Umbridge was awful… it was totally justified."

"I don't want to hear it! Here I thought you were being nice, and it turns out you just wanted one more opportunity to—!"

"England, I hadn't ever seen the movie! How was I supposed to know there would be fireworks?"

"I'll bet you suggested it to the bloody Hollywood producers! Anyway, it doesn't make any difference! I'm going to bed."

"Iggy…."

"Stop calling me that!" He stormed up to his room, slammed the door and locked it, and sat on his bed, hugging his knees, fighting angry tears. It did not make him feel better knowing he was being irrational and unfair. It also did not make him feel better thinking he may have been a bit like Professor Umbridge in his worst moments. When America had pulled on the leash, he'd tightened it more and more until America broke it altogether. And left him for good. The tears escaped, and he sniffed.

There was a knock on his door presently. "England?"

"Go away!" England shouted.

"Can't I come in?" The doorknob rattled slightly. England said nothing, and presently he heard America's footsteps down the hall again. He stayed put, lost in his painful memories, and blinked back tears until he fell asleep.

**OoOoOoO**

A/N: Blah, England has so much emotional baggage. I feel bad for him, but worse for America. Hope non-Harry Potter-readers weren't too confused. For the record, _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ was released on July 11, 2007 in the U.S.A, and the 12th in the U.K.


	2. Chapter 2: Guilt

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, because I am just not that good at history… or geography.**

A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter; I'll try to make the next one longer. Thanks for the reviews thus far! They make me want to update faster. :-)

**OoOoOoO**

**Chapter 2: Guilt**

**July 1, Midnight**

England woke groggily, and glanced at the clock. 12:17. It was dark, so it must be just past midnight. He was still in his clothes, sitting up, and stiff, so he got up to change. He heard a muffled voice coming from downstairs. Was it the television? No… America was talking to someone, probably on the phone. Who was he talking to this late? England went to the top of the stairs and listened.

"You seeing much of France lately? … Oh yeah?" America laughed quietly. "That sounds fun." There was a long pause. "Oh, um…." America's tone had become instantly less cheerful. "Not well… yeah… I mean, it _was_ going well, for a little while… heh, yeah, he did let me in… but I had to emotionally blackmail him." America sighed. "I think he liked the tea. He definitely liked the fish and chips." He paused for a moment. "Well, we tried watching _Order of the Phoenix_… that was a mistake…. Well, he _did_ like it… until Fred and George set off fireworks. … Yeah, they set off fireworks when they escape from Umbridge. … No, I checked the book… in the book they make a swamp and escape afterwards, but I guess the director thought fireworks would look cooler… but Iggy thought it was there on purpose to mock British people… or something. … Well, that's what he said. He said they were declaring their independence with fireworks." America sighed. "I guess… I see why that might bother him… but I mean, I couldn't have known, and he acted like I did it on purpose."

Listening, England felt a bit guilty. From the comment about the tea and fish and chips, he figured America must be talking to Canada. America sounded truly disappointed. England felt guiltier. America had probably gone to a lot of trouble to get that movie, not to mention expense, even if he _did_ know people in Hollywood.

"No, of course I didn't watch it ahead of time," America was saying. "I wanted to watch it for the first time with him."

The knot of guilt grew much larger and tighter.

America sighed. "I don't know, Canada… I'm starting to wonder if me being here is just making things worse. … No, he didn't kick me out… it's night, and it's raining." America sighed. "You think? … Well, I wasn't planning on giving up, exactly… but I mean, I don't even seem to be able to help him feel better. … Okay… okay, I'll keep you posted…. Thanks. … Thanks. Love you, bro. Talk to you later." After a moment, America gave a long sigh. "Must be nice," he said quietly, clearly to himself. He sighed again. "Where do I sleep?"

England realized belatedly that he'd forgotten to give America the guest room. This was certainly embarrassing… but he couldn't leave the git to sleep on the couch when there was a perfectly good bed available. He sighed, and came down the stairs, letting his steps be heard.

America looked up, startled, as England came into view. "Oh… gosh… I am so sorry, did I wake you up?" he asked, getting to his feet.

"No, you didn't… don't worry," England said. "I just woke up and realized I hadn't given you a bed."

"Then… it's okay if I stay the night?" America looked almost desolate.

"Of course," England said. "The guest room might be a bit dusty, though."

"That's fine."

England showed America to the guestroom and gave him some towels. "Let me know if you need anything." He started to leave the room.

"Thanks," America said. Something in his voice made England look round. He had sounded almost on the verge of tears. "Hey… I'm really sorry about the movie… I honestly didn't know."

"I know. I'm sorry I overreacted." He sighed. "I'd like to finish it with you tomorrow."

"Really?" America looked so relieved and happy that England actually smiled.

"Certainly."

"Thanks." America smiled, and England was sure for a moment that there was real affection on his features. England cocked his head slightly, wondering again _why_ America was here. Then he looked away. "Well… goodnight."

"Goodnight."

England went back to his room and changed. Maybe America was just trying to be nice? But he'd talked about "giving up" as though he had some sort of goal. England couldn't imagine what it was, unless he wanted an especially good birthday gift. This seemed quite a lot of trouble to go to for it, though. Did he think it would make him look good to have England at his birthday party? Really, what could a nation like America possibly want from England? Didn't he already have everything he could possibly want? Wealth, power, friends, freedom…. England sighed. He would worry about it in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3: English Breakfast

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

A/N: Now you get to find out why my story is called what it is. :-)

A/N 2: English breakfast and American breakfast really aren't that different. Though we don't have black pudding or baked beans (sadly). By the way, I'm American, but I have been to England. And I know "colours" is the British spelling—I did that on purpose in honor of Iggy (whom I love).

**OoOoOoO**

**Chapter 3: English Breakfast**

**July 1, Morning (Greenwich Time)**

When England came downstairs the next morning, he found breakfast set on the coffee table. America was in the kitchen. He had made a full English breakfast, complete with scones. England stood in the doorway of the kitchen for a moment, staring. "Canada?" he asked.

America almost dropped the spatula he was holding. "Oh, hey Iggy," he said with a smile. "Um… did you just confuse me for Canada?"

"No," England said. "I was asking if Canada taught you how to make an English breakfast."

"Oh. Actually, we eat most of this at my house, too. It's almost finished. If you want to sit down, I'll bring a pot of tea."

"Thank you." But England still stood for a moment. "You… don't have to do this, you know."

"Hmm? I want to, this is fun. Besides, you're sick. You should let people take care of you."

"I'm not that sick." It was true. Having not gotten drunk the night before, England had woken up without a hangover for the first night in three days, and though he still had a cold, he even found he had more energy than yesterday.

"You still shouldn't worry about it. Sit down."

"Very well." England went and sat, and presently America came in with a pot of tea and the rest of breakfast. They ate together quietly. America kept looking thoughtfully at his tea.

"You're very quiet," England commented after a while.

"Don't you like quiet?"

"Yes," England said. "But I'm surprised that you would give it to me." Really, though, he was feeling better and in the mood for some pleasant conversation. If America wasn't going to be loud and obnoxious, he could chat with him. "What is your favorite kind of breakfast?" he asked presently.

"Mmm… something like this. Maybe coffee cake instead of scones, and coffee instead of tea."

"Not donuts?" England had had the impression that those were all Americans ate for breakfast.

"Nah… donuts are good for breakfast on the go, but if I'm going to sit down, I prefer something like this. Ah, wait… Canada's pancakes _might_ be better… think it depends on my mood."

"Did Canada teach you to make pancakes?"

"Yes. Do you want some?"

"Perhaps tomorrow morning." America's eyes went big, so England added, "Assuming I let you stay that long."

America smiled. "It did stop raining."

England shrugged. Apart from being a bit of a thorn in his side, America had been a very good visitor thus far, and he couldn't really help it if he brought back bad memories. There were sometimes good memories as well… but they were always tainted by the memory of how he had lost it all. England looked at his teacup. The colonial days had been the happiest in his life, and the days since the most painful. Funny how that worked. England rather wished sometimes that he hadn't loved America quite so much. Perhaps most of the time. He had never cared so much about any of his colonies, and America had been the first to leave him. The irony.

"England?"

England looked up at America, wondering why he was here. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

England shrugged. "Just… remembering things."

"Remember when you taught me how to make scones?" America asked. "And you showed me how to do different flavors?"

"Yes."

"We sell scones at Starbucks, you know. Sometimes I go there and think of you."

"You do not."

"I do," America said, looking a bit surprised.

It was England's turn to be surprised. America thought about him? He quickly looked away.

"And you taught me how to make bacon, and eggs… the eggs never seemed to turn out right, though."

England sighed. "I remember."

"And you—"

"America…."

America broke off. "Yeah?"

"I really don't need to be reminded right now."

America was silent for a moment. "Sorry. Just thought it might help to remember the good times."

"They ended rather badly." Why was America so insensitive?

America sighed. "Sorry." He was silent for a moment, eating his breakfast, then he said, "I… want to talk with you… if it's okay. But I don't know what we should talk about."

England frowned at the slight hint that he was being hypersensitive, and looked at America. His expression softened. The poor git did seem to be trying very hard. He hadn't considered until now how much energy… not being energetic must take. "How is Canada?"

"He's great," America said, jumping on the topic. "He was visiting with France the other day. They went to see an opera at Italy's house."

"Oh, really?" England was always rather surprised at how well and normally France and Canada got on. He hadn't thought France was capable of a normal relationship until he watched him with Canada.

"Only it was a bit loud and dramatic for Canada's tastes," America said with a smile.

"I'll bet France liked it, though."

"Yes, he did."

"What was it about?"

"Uh… don't remember what it was called, but it was a romance. The main characters were this man and his betrothed's sister—though their betrothal was one of convenience—and he was in love with the sister."

"Did they end up together in the end?"

"Yes, it was meant to be a comedy."

"That's good." England took another sip of tea and bite of his breakfast. "You've been seeing a lot of Canada lately, haven't you?"

"Yeah, we've been hanging out lately. We have one of those relationships where we can hang out a lot sometimes, and not see each other at all other times, but neither of us really minds, and we just pick up where we left off. But I like him a lot. He's one of the few nations I really consider a friend."

England raised an eyebrow. "Your birthday party last year was awfully crowded."

America smiled a little. "Yeah… but I mean, I think a bunch of them just come because they like parties, like France. And some come because they don't want to risk offending me, not that I _would_ be offended. Some come to show off, or make some joke on me. I mean, it's really fun and everything, but not really like hanging out with friends. I generally spend most of my time with Canada and Japan."

"So why do you want me there?"

America smiled a little. "So I can spend time with you."

"You're spending time with me now."

America shrugged.

"Really, America, I want to know."

America looked a bit uncomfortable. "I… I miss you, Iggy."

"Miss me?" England was so surprised, he didn't know how to feel.

"It's… on my birthday that I miss you the most."

England stared at him, perplexed. "Why?"

America ran a finger along the rim of his teacup, back and forth as he talked. "Because… you're special to me, Iggy. And birthdays are like Christmas. You want to spend them with people who are special to you."

"I'm _special_ to you?" His hackles were rising. Was the git trying to make some bloody joke?

America shrugged. "You did raise me."

"Yes, and then you cast me off like an old boot and started your own country."

America sighed. "I kept the same colors in my flag."

There was silence for a few seconds. "I thought you did that to rub it in," England said.

"You seem to think I do everything to rub it in," America said, sounding annoyed. "No, I did that in your honor."

"What the bloody hell were you doing making flags in my honor and waving them while you led your army against me?"

America looked strained. "England, I didn't _want_ to go to war with you."

"Could have fooled me."

"I just wanted to be independent. To be an adult, my own nation, to make my own decisions."

"Well, you accomplished that just fine. What are you trying to do now?"

America sighed again. "We can talk about something else."

"No, I want you to answer the question first."

America paused, finishing his cup of tea. He ran his finger around the top. "I want… you to understand… to forgive me."

"_Forgive_ you?"

America winced. "We should talk about something else."

"Why the bloody hell should I _forgive_ you, you wanker? Because you've made me tea and fish and chips?"

America seemed to be trying to make himself look small. "I helped you in World War II."

"Only _after_ Japan bombed you!"

America sighed. "I _wanted_ to come sooner, my people wouldn't let me."

"Oh, certainly, blame your bloody people. Do you know how many of my people died while we were waiting for your people to act?"

"I'm sorry. I tried. But this isn't about World War II, it's about the Revolution, which was more than _two hundred years ago_, Iggy."

"I know how bloody long it's been, and stop calling me that!"

"Well…?"

"You demolished a good deal of my army, left me on the brink of economical disaster, and inspired the collapse of my entire empire!"

America's fingers ran up and down the side of his teacup. "You know, people like you a lot better now that you're not an empire."

"I don't bloody care!"

America sighed, somehow still calm. England couldn't tell whether or not it was forced. He spoke slowly. "England, countries don't like being controlled by other countries. Empires always collapse eventually. You pulled through as a country, which is more than most empires managed."

"Not that you bloody cared."

"And you still have the Commonwealth," America continued.

"That's hardly an empire."

America sighed. "So what would I have to do? Become your colony again? You know that's impossible."

"You wouldn't if you could."

"That's true."

"Then why am I meant to forgive you for something you're not even bloody sorry for?"

"I'm not… asking forgiveness for becoming a country. I'm asking forgiveness for hurting you."

England fell silent and finished his cup of tea. Then he got to his feet. "I'm taking a shower."

America didn't say anything as England walked away.

England took his time with showering and getting ready. _"…for hurting you."_ He sighed heavily. America didn't care about the British Empire, and he knew it was only of secondary importance to England himself. So he had not apologized for demolishing the empire. He had apologized for hurting England. How was he able to see right through England like that? Well, he had lived with England for over a century. Had he known even when England had said it that his complaints about his army, economy, and empire were all smoke?

"_You're special to me, Iggy."_ England refused to acknowledge how happy those words had made him the second before he'd realized how ridiculous they were. America felt guilty because of England coming last year and saying he got sick every year, and he didn't like feeling guilty, so he'd come to assuage his guilt. That was all. And England had no intention of doing so. If America didn't even have the guilt to make him come back… would England ever see him again? Not that he… really cared about that sort of thing, but…. Anyway, at least now he understood. Celebrating America's birthday with him would be the ultimate act of forgiveness. Never, England thought. Never.

When he finally came downstairs, he found America sitting on the sofa with his book, looking dejected. A glance told England the kitchen had been cleaned.

"I'm not going to forgive you, and I'm not going to your bloody party," England announced, before he had a chance to be mollified.

America looked even more dejected, but he didn't say anything or meet England's eyes.

"And I want you to leave."

America looked up at that, eyes wide, looking suddenly absolutely heartbroken. It was the same look he'd given England as a child, when England had been angry or about to leave. "But…." The same look he had given England when England had pointed a musket at him and been unable to shoot. England refused to be mollified this time. Seeming to sense this, America sighed and quickly looked away. "All right. I'll go pack." He went up to the guest room. He was up there for a while, probably taking his time about it, hoping England would change his mind. But England refused. At length, America came down with his suitcase packed. "Sorry for causing so much trouble," he said, not meeting England's eyes. He handed England an envelope. Confused, England opened it. It was two tickets to _Macbeth_, at the Globe Theatre.

"They're for tomorrow," America said, shrugging a little, still not looking at him. "Maybe you can take France or one or your brothers or something."

"That's my favorite play," England murmured.

"I know. Canada told me."

"You can't buy my forgiveness, America."

"I'm not trying to." America met his eyes for a moment, looking really hurt. "I just… wanted to do something with you. But the tickets shouldn't go to waste." He had already looked away.

"You might be able to get your money back."

America shook his head. "It's not a big deal. I'll… I'll see you around, I guess." He put on his coat and shoes, picked up his suitcase, and left without even waiting to be shown to the door.

England stood, looking at the door for a moment, then looked back at the tickets. There was a post-it note on the back:

_**From your friend, America** _

England set the tickets on the coffee table and sat down, his mind oddly blank. Then he stood up to get himself a gin and tonic, changed his mind, and chose brandy instead.

**OoOoOoO**

A/N: So, um… *shuffles awkwardly… that was… unexpected. Seriously, that kind of just … happened. It was not the original plan for England to kick America out. *rubs neck. Sigh. I hate it when characters go off and do things without my permission. But don't worry, I'll think of something. Sorry, America!


	4. Chapter 4: Canadian Breakfast

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. But I wish Himaruya had explained a little more clearly the relationship between a country and its… um, country.**

A/N: Hey, I thought of something! Hope this works. I think Canada and America normally have a pretty good relationship, even if Canada does resent him sometimes because of always being mistaken for him. Poor guy… I love Canada. (I think people who live in Michigan are particularly fond of Canada—heck, we even use Canadian coins.) By the way, the tune of "My Country 'Tis of Thee" is a total copy from "God Save the Queen," and was actually the ad hoc national anthem before "The Star-Spangled Banner" was written. (Maybe they needed something in a hurry and didn't have time to come up with new music? O_o) Which is why America thought it would be hilarious to have it as his ring tone for England.

A/N 2: Just so no one's confused, Eastern Time is five hours earlier than Greenwich time. I'm thinking it's like six or seven in the morning when America shows up at Canada's house, but Canada strikes me as a morning person, so….

A/N 3: I think of France and Canada as being good friends, with France being a bit of a father/older brother figure… not trying to suggest a pairing here. Just think falling in love with the person who raised you is a bit awkward…. And no, I'm also not trying to suggest a US x Canada pairing (do they have a clever name for that?)… that seems kind of incestuous. But I _am_ a _huge_ supporter of FLUFF (including friendship/brother fluff). :-) Of course, if you insist on seeing pairings anyway, I suppose that's your prerogative.

**OoOoOoO**

**Chapter 4: Canadian Breakfast**

**July 1, Morning (Eastern Time)**

Canada was surprised to hear a knock on his door so early in the morning. He didn't get many visitors, what with most people forgetting he existed. He went and opened the door to find America. Who had quite clearly been crying, and was carrying his suitcase.

"Oh no…" Canada said sympathetically. "Come in." He helped America get his suitcase through the door, closed the door, then drew America into a hug. At that, America broke down again, hugging him tightly. "Shh," Canada said. "It's okay."

"It's… not," America sobbed. "I ruined… everything."

"Shh," Canada said again. He rubbed America's back and held him for a minute or two, before saying, "Let's sit down."

They sat together on the sofa and Canada gave America a handkerchief and put his arm around him. America wiped his face and sniffed.

"So, what happened?" Canada asked.

"He… he kept asking me why I was there, and I was trying to explain that he was special to me, and I wanted to spend time with him, because I missed him." He sniffed again. "And he wanted to know why, so I said it was because he raised me… and then he got mad about the Revolution all over again." America sighed and sniffed again. "And I tried explaining that I never wanted that war, and I asked him to forgive me for hurting him, and then he went and took a shower, then came down and said he wouldn't forgive me _or_ come to my birthday and wanted me to leave."

Canada stared. "Wow."

America broke down again. "I shouldn't… have asked him… so soon. I ruined… everything… and he'll never… give me another… chance now."

Canada hugged him again. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No."

"Are you sure? He might not be so hypersensitive talking to me."

America shook his head. "I think the matter's pretty much closed as far as he's concerned." He sighed, and sniffed again.

Canada sighed and patted America on the shoulders. "Hey, I'll make you some pancakes and bacon. You can stay here for now. Maybe he'll reconsider. Don't give up hope."

America sniffed. "Okay. Thanks." He sighed, then started, seeming to realize something. "Gosh, sorry… I show up crying at your door on your birthday."

Canada did a double-take. "You… you remembered?"

America sniffed, but he smiled. "I'm the hero. I always remember."

He _didn't_ always remember, since he was often caught up with preparations for his own birthday, but he did remember more often than any other nation, except possibly France. Canada smiled. "I just thought you'd be too busy with England this year."

"No… I was going to bring him with me, but that didn't work out so well."

"Mm, that would have been nice," Canada said. Even if England usually forgot about him, he still liked England, mostly because they had similar tastes and could have quiet conversations over tea… when England remembered he existed. "But you came," he said, smiling.

"Yeah. Just a minute." America went to his suitcase did something with his back in the way so Canada couldn't see. Then he brought over a gift bag. "By the way, you are really difficult to buy for, and France is hopeless at suggesting gift ideas."

Canada laughed and took the bag. The first thing he pulled out was an enormous, maple-leaf shaped bottle of maple syrup. "Oh, thanks!" he said happily. "I was just starting to run out."

"There's actually another one for you in my suitcase, I just could only fit one in the bag."

"Wow, really?"

"There's more," America said, nodding at the bag. Canada pulled out an envelope, which he opened. Inside were two tickets to _Much Ado About Nothing_ at the Globe Theatre. He gasped. "The Globe? Like, the one in London?"

"Of course."

"I've never even been there! Really? And that's my favorite play!"

America gave a laugh. "I know… you told me."

"When?"

"When I asked you what Iggy's favorite play was, I asked you yours too, remember? You and Iggy have similar tastes, you know?" For a moment, America looked like he was about to get depressed again, but then he smiled.

"_Macbeth_ and _Much Ado About Nothing_ are completely different from each other."

America waved his hand at the difference. "So, aside from these… Hollywood would only give me one DVD, unfortunately, but I'm getting you a copy of your own as soon as it comes out, and before that, I'm taking you to see it in the cinema as soon as you want to go."

"Really?"

"And, you've been saying for a while that I should visit your mountains, so I'm going with you this August."

"America, this is too much," Canada said, almost blushing with embarrassment.

"Too late," America said. "I already booked reservations at the hotel."

"You…." Canada shook his head. "Well, I guess I can't say no. How did you know I'd be free?"

"I cleared it with your boss, and France."

Canada laughed. "Thanks, America." Canada was glad to see that giving presents seemed to have made America feel a little better. "I'm going to make you some breakfast, okay?"

"You shouldn't have to cook on your birthday."

"You just made breakfast for England, didn't you? Besides, I like making pancakes. And I'm better at it than you are."

At the mention of England (Canada kicked himself), America's smile faded, but he nodded. "Okay, thanks."

Half an hour later, Canada had a breakfast of coffee, pancakes, maple syrup, and Canadian bacon on the table. America dug in. Fortunately, Canada was used to having America as a breakfast guest, and had made enough to satisfy him. He seemed to feel better after he'd eaten, though he still looked depressed-trying-to-be-happy.

"America, it's okay. You don't have to pretend to be happy. I'd be depressed."

America's shoulders slumped a little. "But it's your _birthday_."

"And I'm just happy you're here. Don't worry." He paused. "Um… France was going to come over this afternoon for a _Lord of the Rings_ marathon… I can put it off until tomorrow if you want, unless you'd rather join us."

"Actually, that sounds fun." America seemed to want a distraction. "Do you think… Iggy'll let me talk to him again, at least?" he asked, sounding a bit hopeless.

"I'm sure he will," Canada said. "Maybe give him some time."

America nodded. "Okay."

**OoOoOoO**

"_Bonjour, __mon__cher_Canada!" France called as he came in. "Oh, is Amérique joining us?"

"Yeah…." Canada put an arm around America's shoulders. "He's kind of had a bad day."

"_Oui_? What happened?" France sat down, concerned. Other countries tended to think he was nothing more than a pervert, but he really did care about people, and he had a soft spot for Canada's brother, though he had more of one for Canada himself.

America looked reluctant to talk about whatever it was. "Well… I was _trying_ to make things right with England… but it didn't go so well."

"But he's not giving up hope," Canada said firmly. "Are you, America? Because the hero never gives up, right?"

America smiled a little. "Yeah. The hero never gives up. I'm just… not feeling all that heroic at the moment."

"Well, we shall fix that, shan't we?" France asked, smiling. "On with the show about great heroes who faced odds much stronger than an Englishman with bushy eyebrows and an attitude problem."

America's smile became a bit more real. "Yeah."

"And if he won't listen to you in the end, he'll have _moi_ to answer to, won't he?" France asked.

"Uh… no offence, France, but I don't really want you fighting my battles for me."

"Nonsense. I can always talk sense into him. But I'll let you have your chance first," he said with a wink. His smile grew gentler. "I think it will be all right, Amérique. He misses you as well."

"You think?" America asked, looking really hopeful.

"Most definitely. I know these things. I am, after all, the country of love."

"See?" Canada asked, smiling. "I told you. He obviously still cares about you, or he wouldn't have let you in to begin with."

America smiled a little, looking encouraged.

"Indeed. He has always loved his Amérique. Why else would he drink himself into oblivion every fourth of July?"

"Uh… I didn't know he did," America asked, looking concerned.

"_Oui_. He wouldn't do that over a simple grudge. Goodness knows how many grudges he has against me, and he doesn't get himself sloshed over any of those."

America looked uncomfortable. "He wasn't drinking when I went over."

"_Non_? Well, there, you see? You have already made him feel better. Now let us watch the movies while we wait for Angleterre to come to his senses, shall we?"

The marathon was awesome, and both France and Canada noted that America had obviously been repressing himself, because he got _very_ animated watching the movie… though, not as much as he normally would be. They were just finishing the second movie when America's phone rang with "God Save the Queen"–which America claimed was actually "My Country 'Tis of Thee"—and America jumped to his feet and ran to answer it. "Iggy?"

Canada instantly paused the movie and looked at America, whose face fell almost immediately. "I… I'm sorry? … Yes, I guess I'm a friend of his. Oh, God, did something happen to him? Oh…." America looked relieved, then shocked. "He's where? He did _what_?" America paused, listening. "Oh, gosh… yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can. Thanks." He hung up the phone and sighed.

"What happened?" France asked. "Is Angleterre all right?" He sounded genuinely concerned, in spite of the fact that he and England almost never got along.

"Uh… I need to go."

"Wait, what happened?" Canada asked. "What did he do?"

"He, um…." America hesitated. "He got into a bar fight. Bad one. He's completely drunk, and he was arrested for disorderly conduct. I'm going to go pick him up."

"Oh, _non_… I should have known…" France said. "Do you want us to go with you?"

America shook his head. "No, it's fine. Just wish me luck."

"Good luck." Canada patted America on the shoulder. "Do you need your suitcase?"

"Uh… probably not. I doubt he'll let me stay."

"Okay… let me know if you need it, and I'll bring it by."

"Thanks." America left and made his way to England's house in next to no time. As countries, they could travel from country to country much faster than normal people.

**OoOoOoO**

A/N: If anyone knows, maybe from the anime or something, exactly _how_ countries travel from country to country, please enlighten me… I read a fanfiction where there was country hopping, but I don't know if that's cannon or not. I do know Italy managed to get from Italy to Germany in minutes in the web-comic, so I imagine they move pretty fast, and don't really need planes or anything… but on the other hand, sometimes they have countries and sometimes they just have "houses," so I'm really confused. Sometimes I get the impression that Himuraya just isn't a details person.

A/N 2: Yay for the plot sneaking up on me… I didn't realize it was Canada's birthday (i.e. July 1, Canada Day) until after I wrote this chapter, and then I had to go back and change it, but fortunately I hadn't published it yet. I'm sorry, Canada! I didn't mean to forget. :-(


	5. Chapter 5: I Miss You

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

A/N: England is not really a pleasant drunk…. Also, the Statue of Liberty (for those who don't know, or haven't read that particular strip) was a gift to America from France to celebrate America's 100th birthday.

**Chapter 5: I Miss You**

**July 2, Midnight (Greenwich again)**

England sat at the police station, slowly becoming more sober, though he could definitely still feel the alcohol in his blood. He didn't want to become sober. He wanted to go home and get some brandy or something.

A voice with an American accent drifted in from the office outside, and presently America came in. England took one look at him and put his face in his hand. Bloody hell, this was _so_ humiliating. Why on earth was America even here?

"Here's your phone back," one of the cops said, handing it to him. "We found this gentleman's number on your recently dialed list, since you wouldn't tell us who to call."

"Bloody go to hell," England muttered.

He heard America sigh. "Come on, Iggy. Let's get you home."

England got to his feet, swaying a little, and felt America's arm wrap around his shoulders. "Don't touch me, you wanker."

America ignored him and led him to the door. England didn't try to pull away. He wasn't sure he could walk without America's support. But God, he wished America would have just left him there, or yelled at him, or something. _"You're special to me, Iggy."_ England put a hand to his face, which threw him off balance. America steadied him. "Careful." _"I miss you."_ England felt tears in his eyes. Could this get any more embarrassing? _"I kept the same colors in my flag."_ He felt his shoulders shake a little. _"Hey, England, I will choose liberty after all. I'm no longer your child or your baby brother. From now on, I'm independent."_

"It's okay," America said comfortingly. "We'll be home soon. Just calm down." He hailed a taxi and helped England into it. "We'll get you some tea, maybe a shower, some aspirin, and a good night's sleep, okay?"

England stifled a sob and nodded, though he hadn't really paid attention to America's words. He was so pathetic. Was this why America had left him? _"England… you used to be… so big." _England gasped and gave a quiet sob. Bloody alcohol. He had absolutely no control over his emotions.

"Hey, what's wrong?" America asked. "Were the police awful to you or something?"

England covered his eyes with his hand. _"Are you all right?"_ Toddler America's voice echoed in his mind. America choosing him over France. Who would have thought that little boy would grow up to hurt him so? England sighed. _"I miss you."_ He squeezed his eyes shut. How could America say something like that? "M-Maybe…." England choked on a sob. "Maybe… you… would… have been… h-happier… with F-France."

"Huh? Are you kidding me? That guy's crazy."

"You… invite him… to your… b… b…."

"Well, we're on friendly terms, and he brings good wine, but that doesn't mean I would have preferred him."

"You… allied… with him… against me."

America sighed. "Oh, Iggy…." He was silent for a moment. "I needed help. He was the only one who understood. I thought… you would understand, eventually." He sighed again. "But I guess not. But I mean, France is just like a weird uncle or something. He's not someone I'd want to hang out with on a regular basis."

"I… h-hate the… b-bloody… S-Statue of… L-Liberty," England sobbed.

America sighed again. "_I_ hate it when you get drunk."

The taxi stopped. "Here we are, sir," the driver said.

"Thanks." America paid him and helped the sobbing England to his door and through it, then sat him down on the couch. "Stay here."

"Get me some bloody brandy," England said.

"No," America replied, going into the kitchen like he owned the place.

"It's my… bloody house… you git, I'll drink whatever I… bloody want to!" England called after him, getting shakily to his feet to get the brandy on his own.

America sighed and pushed him back onto the couch and stood over him, holding his shoulders in place. "You've had quite enough to drink. You will stay here, and I will make tea."

"Don't… bloody tell me what to do… you bloody wanker!"

America folded his arms. "I can call France for reinforcements."

England groaned. "If you call that frog bastard, I'll wring your bloody neck."

"I'm pretty sure I could overpower you if it came to that," America replied. "So either I call France, or you sit here and sober up. You're going to have an awful headache in the morning as it is."

"Fine, you bloody ungrateful wanker," England said, the words coming out as a sob. But America was pitiless, and he went into the kitchen again to make tea, which he brought out a few minutes later. England tried to pour himself a cup, but his hands were shaking, so he let America do it. He sipped his tea. America sat in silence. He looked like there were several choice things he wanted to say to England, but was trying to hold back.

"Are you angry with me?" England asked mournfully.

America looked at him. "Well, I'm not exactly thrilled."

"W-why did you come back? You could have sent someone else."

"I was worried about you." _"You're special to me, Iggy. I miss you."_

England sighed and put his head in his hands, tearing up again. "Why did you come back?" he asked again. "And if… you were going to come back, why did you wait so long?"

"Um… you kicked me out."

"You bloody _left_ me, you git!" England said, glaring at him.

America paused. "Are… we still talking about the same thing?"

"It's been more than two hundred bloody years, and _now_ you come and say things like that?"

America looked confused, then looked at his hands. "I'm sorry. For a while, I… was too proud. And it's only recently I thought you might be willing to listen to me… since at least you came last year." He sighed. "Before, I thought… at least if you were angry at me, it was better than being depressed. I didn't know… you were still depressed." He sighed again, still looking down. "I didn't know… don't know anything. I just… wanted to make things right. I don't know what to do anymore." He stared into space in front of him. "Maybe I'm just too late." He put a hand to his forehead and ran his fingers up through his hair and back down. He suddenly looked completely exhausted. "But… but I had to try, you know?" His voice sounded a bit shaky.

England wasn't really sure he was sober enough to follow all of this. But America's words, or maybe his demeanor, somehow communicated one simple message to him: _"I miss you."_ He felt his will weakening, and didn't know if he wanted to keep it strong or not. Why exactly was he so intent on pushing America away, again? That wasn't what he wanted, after all. Bloody hell… why was he thinking and talking about these things when he was drunk? He looked at America sitting on the armchair, head in his hands, the picture of despair, and remembered sharply his earlier, heartbroken expression. Whatever America was trying to do… it obviously meant something to him.

"I'm sorry."

America looked up, startled. "For what?"

"Getting drunk." England paused. "And kicking you out."

There was a short silence. "Wow," America said at last. "I forgive you."

England gave a small sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Maybe you could give me another chance?"

England hesitated. Didn't giving America another chance to make things right mean that he, England, was going to try to make things right? Well, was he or wasn't he? _"I miss you."_ In some corner of his mind, England could feel a much younger America hug him tightly around the legs, only to be lifted into his arms and held closely. He closed his eyes at the warmth of the small body against his. _"Enwland, I missed you." "I missed you too, love."_ God, how had he been so simple and honest back then?

"England?" America asked, looking desperate.

"Yes," England said. "I'll give you another chance."

"Thank you." America still sounded surprised. "Uh, so… Canada said he'd bring my suitcase over if I needed it… should I call him?"

"After I go to bed." He didn't want Canada seeing him like this too.

"Okay." He moved from the arm chair to the sofa where England was sitting and put an arm around him, startling him out of any coherent thoughts he had had a few moments before. "Hey… we're going to work this out."

England drew in a shaky breath and didn't say anything. His drunken state was combining with exhaustion now, and he wasn't sure anymore what America was trying to work out. But he was grateful for the arm around him, making him feel he wasn't so alone in the world after all… even if the person putting his arm around him was the reason he felt alone to begin with. He finished his cup of tea and poured another one. In the end, he was glad it was America here rather than someone else, though he didn't know why. Maybe because he didn't really have anyone else. Or maybe because… he really wanted America to be here, after all. It even felt good to be forgiven for kicking him out this morning.

At that thought, England turned and looked at America. _"I'm asking for forgiveness for hurting you."_ He looked down and sighed. He finished his tea. "I think… I'll go to bed now," he said. Without thinking or even knowing why he was doing it, he turned and pulled America into a hug.

America started, then immediately hugged him back, and England closed his eyes. It seemed no one ever touched him. God, he was so bloody lonely.

"You should take a shower, first," America said. "No offense, but you stink."

"Wanker. If you insist." England let go and got to his feet, wondering whether he ought to be embarrassed, and left a smiling—no, _beaming_—America sitting on the sofa. He returned the smile with a little one of his own. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, Iggy."

"And stop calling me that."

America just laughed.

**OoOoOoO**

A/N: Well… that went well. :-) By the way, calling someone "love" in England (particularly someone younger) does not necessarily convey anything romantic. It's a simple term of endearment, and is sometimes used for perfect strangers, like "hun" or "sugar" in the south of the United States. (I think I'm getting this right; if I'm wrong, please feel free to correct me, any British readers.) However, I highly doubt England has used it for America in a very long time. Not entirely sure whether he intended it now… he is still half-drunk. :-p

A/N 2: On a side note, I've never been drunk, so I hope I did okay telling the story from drunk Iggy's point of view.


	6. Chapter 6: Nightmare

**Disclaimer:** **You get it. Seriously, why would I write fanfiction for it if I owned it?**

A/N: This chapter's really short… but it's cute, so….

A/N 2: By the way, I've figured out my head-cannon for how countries travel, which is that they can kind of beam themselves over to specific places in other countries that are kind of shared/international territory, like embassies. And if they have good political relationships (like America and England), or an invitation, they can just teleport to a nation's home… kind of like being given an extra key for emergencies. International airports also count. (This just in case I write anymore Hetalia fanfiction.) So for America to get to the police station to pick up England, he just needed to teleport to England's house and taxi the rest of the way. (Hope this doesn't sound ridiculous.)

A/N 3: By the way, thanks for the hits, fav's, alerts, and reviews! More are always welcome! :-)

**OoOoOoO**

**Chapter 6: Nightmare**

**July 2, maybe 2:00AMish?**

America lay down in the guest bed, having just changed after receiving his suitcase from Canada. His brother really was awfully good to him. He turned off the light and lay down. He was _so_ tired. These last two days had been an emotional roller coaster, and he had no idea what tomorrow would bring. Yes, England had apologized, which was a good sign. But he had apologized the night before also, and then kicked America out in the morning.

But hey… at least he had another chance, right? And England had _hugged_ him! For the first time since the Revolution, _England_ had hugged _him_, _and_ called him "love"! Those simple acts gave him more hope than all the apologies in the world, even if England _had_ been drunk, and the excitement was making it difficult for America to relax enough to sleep, regardless of how tired he was. He sighed, smiling, and closed his eyes.

A moan came from the other room. America opened his eyes. "Iggy?" he said softly into the darkness.

"No…" came the voice from the other room. "Please… don't."

Was he having a nightmare? America quickly got to his feet and went to England's door. It opened this time. England was tossing and turning in bed.

"Please," he whimpered. "Don't want to be alone."

America sighed and sat down on the bed. "Iggy," he said. "Wake up. You're having a nightmare."

England moaned, and America gently shook his shoulder. England gasped and opened his eyes. "A… America?"

"Yeah. You were having a nightmare."

"What… are you doing here?"

Concerned with this response, America felt England's forehead. It seemed a bit warm.

"Why… why did you leave me?" England asked, breaking down. "You were all I had… I loved you… why?"

America didn't know what to say. His hopes sank.

"You left me… all alone. I thought… I thought…."

"I'm sorry," America said. "I didn't want to leave you."

"You didn't?"

America sat beside him, arm around him, since England didn't really seem to be angry right now… more just sad. "Anyway… I'm here now."

"You mean… you've come back to me?" England looked so hopeful that America was lost for words for a moment. _"He misses you as well."_ America smiled, and suddenly, the words were there, as if they had simply been waiting for their cue.

"Yes," America said. "I've come back to you. But… things will be a little different now. Now, you don't need to worry about protecting me, or raising me… because you see, I grew up… and did pretty well, thanks to you." America rubbed his shoulders. "So you don't need to hide your feelings or anything. You can tell me when you're upset, or lonely, or angry, or afraid, and I can try to help. I can even pick you up from the police station when you cause trouble."

England nestled a little into America's side, which he took as a good sign. He smiled again, and drew England into a hug. The Brit had always been much more affectionate when he was tired.

"Because Iggy… I'm not your child or your baby brother anymore… now I'm your friend. And I will never leave you again."

"Haven't got any friends," England murmured.

"Well, you do now," America replied.

"_Have_ now… learn to use… proper grammar… you git."

America chuckled and shook his head. "Geez, Iggy. You're always yourself, even drunk, sick, and half asleep." He gave England a light kiss on the top of the head, the way England used to do to him when he put him to bed. "Get some sleep, you idiot."

"Don't leave," England said when America started to let go.

America paused. "I should stay with you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Okay… just don't get mad at me in the morning."

"Angry," England corrected sleepily.

"Shut up," America replied, barely resisting the urge to burst out laughing. He pulled the covers back and lay down next to England, who snuggled into him. _"Engwand, can I sleep with you? I had a nightmare._" America smiled a little at how England had drawn him close and comforted him and held him until he fell asleep. He didn't think their roles had been reversed so much as equalized. And that was just the way America wanted it. Sighing, he closed his eyes.

**OoOoOoO**

A/N: Ahahahahaha… Iggy's grammar is always the last thing to go. :-)


	7. Chapter 7: I'm Sorry

**Disclaimer: See previous six chapters….**

A/N: There, here's a longer chapter. For my American readers, Paracetamol = acetaminophen = Tylenol. For my non-English, non-American readers… can't help you, sorry. By the way, I'm assuming they have aspirin and Alka-Seltzer in Britain. If I'm wrong, please correct me and tell me what British people use instead.

A/N 2: America's relationship with England kind of reminds me of the song "Perfect" by Simple Plan. If I liked songfics, I might write one to that song, but I really don't, so it just gets honorable mention. I kind of have this impression that although America is definitely an independent nation, he still kind of thinks of England as an older brother/father/whatever you want to call it.

A/N 3: I hope I've kept America reasonably in character for this story. He's been curbing his natural hyperactivity, noise, and general silliness on purpose. You'll probably notice he acts a bit more like himself in this chapter, now that he's feeling a bit more relaxed.

A/N 4: Sorry for the slight delay… this being the climax of the story, I wanted to make sure it was right.

**OoOoOoO**

**Chapter 7: I'm Sorry**

**July 2, Morning (this day seems to be going on for a while…)**

England woke up feeling wonderfully warm… though not entirely comfortable. He was sleeping on something unevenly hard and soft that shifted when he moved, and—bloody hell!—there was someone in his bed! His mind instantly filled with horrifying ideas, he sat up almost violently, wrenching himself out of the arms that were around him, and shouting, "What the _bloody_ _hell_ are you _doing_ here, you damned frog? I _swear_ if you so much as—!" before he saw who it was in the bed with him.

America, having woken up with a start, stared at him for a second, then started to laugh, and continued until he could barely breathe.

"It's… it's not funny," England said, flushing with embarrassment and breathless with relief. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

America finally managed to catch his breath. "Good morning to you, too," he gasped. "_You_ told me not to leave."

England blinked. "I did?" He tried to remember. "I thought I told you to leave yesterday morning." Though come to think of it, he did remember America coming back. "No, wait…." The events of last night were very muddled, except that the raging headache that attacked him just then made him sure he must have gotten drunk. _Very_ drunk. "Ah…" he groaned, putting his head in his hands.

"Mm, I thought so," America said, sounding sympathetic. "Let me go get you some aspirin and tea."

"No… aspirin makes it worse. Get the Paracetamol."

"Um, don't know what that is, but sure." America came back soon with medicine, water, and the largest pot of tea.

England took the Paracetamol almost greedily. He had to go slower with the tea, but he didn't really care whether his tongue got burned if his bloody headache would go away. "What happened?" he asked. He knew he could remember some if he tried, but remembering made the headache worse. "Speak… quietly."

"You went out and got drunk, got into a bar fight, and were arrested for disorderly conduct," America said, somehow managing to say this in a matter-of-fact, reporting-on-the-weather sort of voice. "The police called me, and I came and picked you up. Then you came back here, drank some tea, and we talked a little, and you…." America faltered. "…you said you'd give me a second chance, and told me I could stay. So I did. Then you went to bed, but you had a nightmare, and I came to wake you up… and we, um… talked again for a little while. Then you told me not to leave, so I stayed."

"You were holding me?"

"…you were crying."

Now that America had put it all so neatly, he did remember some of it.

"Do you… remember what we talked about?" America asked, sounding a bit hopeless.

England tried. From America's tone, he figured that conversation must have been important, and he did vaguely remember talking and feeling better about something. But nothing more than that. "Sorry," he said.

America gave a long sigh.

"Well, what were you doing talking to me when I was half asleep?"

America shrugged. "Oh, well. But you're not mad at me?"

"Angry," England corrected, feeling like he had made that same correction very recently. "Why would I be angry with you?"

America seemed about to say something, then stopped himself and smiled a little. "Guess you wouldn't be." He helped himself to a cup of tea, looking a bit tired. It suddenly occurred to England that America was probably having trouble with the time difference.

"Are you all right, love?" England hadn't actually meant to call America that. He hadn't called him "love" in over two hundred years. It was one of the things he'd trained himself _not _ to do since America had left him. But somehow, it had just sort of slipped off the end of his tongue. "I… ah… well… that is to say… I mean, the time difference, of course, must be difficult, and you were up rather late last night." God, he sounded like an idiot.

America was smiling at him, looking a bit amused. "A little tired. But I'll manage. Do you know the tea you have here is like, _really_ strong? Seriously… the tea we have in America doesn't even wake me up."

"That," England said, proudly "is because in the United Kingdom, we actually take tea seriously."

"Apparently," America said, raising his eyebrows. Then apparently unable to resist laughter, he choked out the words, "But your coffee sucks. I mean, seriously, man? Nescafé? What the heck is _that_ supposed to be?"

"An alternative to buying a coffee maker. If you put your coffee in bags or balls like a sensible drink ought to be, we would have no need for instant coffee. And we do _have_ brewed coffee."

"Yeah… at Starbucks. Which is kind of like an American Embassy, you know?"

"Oh, shut it, you git, we have perfectly good coffee in the United Kingdom that is _not_ made by the United States, and you know it. And stop bloody arguing with me when I have a hangover." Somehow, though, this stupid argument had made him feel unexpectedly better, like tension had been released somehow. A spat over something ridiculous was familiar ground, which had been seriously lacking these last few days. England suddenly wondered if America had done that on purpose, and looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. America grinned, and England attempted to glare at him, but didn't think he succeeded very well. "Git."

America chuckled. "Hey…" he said presently, "do you think you'll be up for the play this afternoon? Or did you already invite someone else?"

"No… we can go, if my headache is gone by then. If not, you can probably take Canada, he likes Shakespeare."

"Your headache will be better," America said confidently. "I'll _make_ it better, because I'm the hero! Be right back." He went downstairs, leaving a bemused England to realize, much to his surprise, that this was the first time America had talked about being the hero his entire visit. Moments later, America came back with his laptop and Google searched "hangover cure." He pulled up a website. "Oh, it says to avoid caffeine. Oops." He took the tea cup out of England's hand.

"Hey, I was bloody going to drink that. It's just one cup." He was going to have his bloody tea, whatever Google had to say about it.

"Fine, but just one." He handed it back. "Um, do you have any fruit juice?"

"I have squash." Though he wasn't really sure that counted.

America looked at him strangely. "Squash? You make juice out of that? How?"

"You just add water to it, you git."

"Uh…." America looked even more confused. "Should I like… skin it and cut it up first?"

"Not _that_ kind of squash!" England said, putting a hand to his head. "Don't you Americans have bloody squash?"

"Um…." America clearly had no idea what he was talking about.

England almost pitied him. He didn't know what he was missing. "It's concentrated juice, you add water to it."

"Oh. Is it real juice?"

"No idea. Probably not."

"Then I'll go to the store and get you some real juice. It says taking a shower and switching between hot and cold might work. Um, or pickle juice."

"That sounds bloody disgusting."

"Well, I'll see what I can get for you. If you don't want to do anything else, at least sleep, they say that's good." America patted his shoulder with a smile. "Be back soon."

England sighed and lay back in bed. This didn't seem to be adding up anymore. Even if America did feel guilty, that hardly warranted this much attention and affection. Last night he vaguely remembered having come to the tentative realization that America missed him, but why would he?

"Don't worry," said a voice at his side. "He'll be back soon."

England smiled at the voice and turned to face one of his fairy friends. "Hello, there. Yes, I know."

"You've been thinking about him a lot lately, huh?"

England attempted a shrug while half sitting up. "Well, it would be difficult not to, wouldn't it? He's rather insistent on being noticed."

"You know he likes you, right?"

England looked away. "That's ridiculous," he said. "Why would he?"

"We all think so," said another fairy. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

"It's not a bit obvious," England replied.

The fairies laughed, then settled on England's bed, just a few feet from his face. "We'll always be your friends," the first one said. "But you need other friends, too. Friends like you."

England raised his eyebrows a little. His fairies were giving him relationship advice. What was this world coming to?

"Think about it," said the second fairy. "You should sleep now."

"Yes… thank you." England lay back down, and for some reason, the first thing he saw when he closed his eyes was America's face when he had come to the party last year, and how it had lit up. _"Ah… you came."_ It was the first time England had come to his birthday. He hadn't seen America's expression when he left almost immediately. Had he been disappointed? _"You know he likes you, right?"_

England went back to sleep and didn't wake up again until he heard America come in. His headache was feeling slightly better, but only slightly. America was holding a bag of things, mostly different drinks. "Hey, I asked the lady what would be good for a hangover, and she gave me all of this," he said. He poured England a cup of fruit juice, which England drank. "Did you get some sleep?"

"Yes."

"Oh no… I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No… it's fine. Though… speak a bit more quietly, there's a love." Oh God, he'd done it again. Surprised at himself, England blinked away the rest of his drowsiness and looked at his companion. He was so pleased that America was back. Surely he hadn't missed the lad while he slept. Was that why the fairy had reassured him? Really, this was beginning to get worrisome. What was happening to him? America wasn't even being particularly quiet or polite anymore.

He considered America briefly over his cup of juice. He was always so full of life and laughter, even when he was worried about someone. He always had been. Once upon a time, England had loved that about him. He remembered spending time with America when America was a child, and how happy it had made him seeing his little brother laugh and play. He blinked. This memory… wasn't bitter. Had those days… come back, somehow? _From your friend, America_. Friend. It couldn't be true… could it?

"Are you feeling any better?" America asked.

The fruit juice was helping, as was the water with Alka-Seltzer America made him. "Yes."

"That's good." America sat beside him and put an arm around him, which surprised England, but somehow warmed him right through. When had America become so affectionate? Well… actually… he'd been very affectionate as a child. And an adult, before the war. Had he just been holding back or something?

England's face felt warm and he wasn't sure what made him do it, but he asked, "America… do you like me?"

America smiled. "Of course."

So simple and straightforward. At times this aspect of America's personality was irritating, but now it was wonderfully reassuring. And he felt it was high time for he, himself, to stop ducking around the bush and give America the chance he'd promised. He waited until America had let go of him to pour himself a glass of juice, then breathed deeply and sighed. "Why did you leave me?"

America's smile vanished, and he sighed. "Iggy…."

Bloody hell, he was actually starting to like that nickname. What was wrong with him? Well… he had liked being called "Engwand" when America was very small as well. England shook his head. "I'm not angry. I just… want to know."

America met his eyes, looking cautious, then blinked, like something had surprised him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and England had impression that America had prepared for this question, but was still nervous about his answer. "I…." He swallowed. "I… when I was your colony… you were always treating me like your kid. Even when it was troublesome for you, you always were protecting me and trying to teach me." He reached for his cup of juice, and England noticed his hand shaking.

"America…."

America started.

"Relax," England said. He gave America what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the hand. "I just want to talk with you."

"Yeah… sorry." There was just a bit of tremor in his voice. Clearly, he did not expect to be given a third chance if he messed this up. "Anyway… I… was grateful… and happy. I really admired you, and I felt safe when you were there. I wanted to spend time with you, and I wanted you to be proud of me." His voice broke just slightly on the word "proud." "I wanted to be your hero… like you were mine."

England's eyes widened slightly at that, but he didn't say anything.

"But after a while… I felt like… I was an adult now. You shouldn't have to keep taking care of me. And I kind of… I don't know. You wanted me to be so _British_, and I mean, I have nothing against being British… it works great for you. But for me… I don't know. It just didn't really fit. And sometimes it felt like… that was all you cared about. So I was kind of trying for a bit more independence… I wanted…."

He paused again. "I wanted you to see me. To… let me be my own person… and… and like me that way. But after a while, it felt like you really loved someone else. Someone more like you. And I realized… I could never be that person. I'd just keep disappointing you. So I thought… rather than be your disappointing colony… I could be my own country. And then maybe since I wasn't your charge anymore, you would stop worrying, and maybe we could get along… and you'd like me better." He sighed. "But… it didn't work out so well."

England drank his juice, listening. He really hadn't been a very good brother, had he? Perhaps when America was younger… but when he was older, every time he tried to be different from England, England would shut down the attempt, afraid of what it might mean. Really… raising a child was not about making a carbon copy of oneself. Still, he had had no idea what was going through America's mind. He had never tried to understand. America had even told him this, back then, in slightly different language, but effectively the same message. And he hadn't listened. He thought wryly that he did seem to respect America more now. He was listening, at least.

America looked at England to see how he was taking this explanation. His eyes widened slightly. He wasn't used to England listening to him. "Um… so… I was trying to do it peacefully… but you wouldn't let me. And France came and told me I might have to fight for it, but it would be better for everyone in the end, and he said he'd help me. He… he knew how I felt about you, but he said that even if you ended up getting hurt, it was okay, and normal… that parents and caretakers often had a hard time letting go of their children, but that you were being unreasonable, and eventually he was sure you'd realize that…." He sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't have listened. But you were mad at me, and I was still pretty young… and I really needed someone's advice. I didn't think of France as your replacement or anything like that… believe me. More like a… a temporary guidance counselor or something.

"Looking back on it, I think he probably didn't really care what happened to you… but I wasn't really thinking about that at the time, and I was frustrated… and stuff. And things got out of hand… my people got mad, and I got mad… I… I never meant for it to be a war. I didn't even want to be separated from you. I loved you, England… I still do." He had set down his cup and now he put his face in his hands. His voice had become shaky at the end, and England was stunned by the realization that the Revolution was a painful memory for America as well. "It all… turned out so badly. I became a country… but I lost you. And you wouldn't even talk to me for a while… and so I tried acting like I didn't care. I mean… I was a country, and I had to be strong for my people, so I took responsibility for myself, and I decided if I couldn't be _your_ hero, at least I could be theirs. But… I couldn't just let you go. Even fighting with you was better than not seeing you at all. And I figured you'd probably never understand… so I might as well give up on that…"

He sighed again. "And see, Iggy… I thought… you had gotten over it. I didn't know I meant that much to you. I mean, afterwards, you were always annoyed at me, but you were like that when I was a colony too, so… and I thought, maybe… we'd reconciled a bit in the World Wars… which is why I started inviting you to my birthday. I… actually didn't realize until last year… how much I'd hurt you… and that you were still hurting." He shook his head, looking slightly disgusted for a moment. "So of course, being the hero that I am, I said something stupid and pushed you away the one time you were honest with me. I'm… always saying stupid things when I feel awkward." He smiled just a little. "Guess I got that from you."

England's lips twitched into a pout, but he still didn't say anything.

America was looking at his hands. "Iggy… my birthday _is_ the day I miss you the most, and not just because you're special to me, though that's part of it. I was totally lying last year… I do remember old times… good and bad… and I miss you so much. I mean… I don't want to be your colony again. I want to be your friend, man to man. That's why… I want so much for you to forgive me. I'm really, really sorry."

England was silent. How had he misunderstood America so much? _I want to be your friend. That's why…._ "When you say… you want to be my friend… what do you mean?"

America looked up, looking confused. "Um…."

"Do you mean you just want to be on friendly terms?"

"No," America said, shaking his head. "I want to hang out with you… do stuff with you… we can help each other and talk together and stuff. I mean… I know we're busy with our countries and everything, but I'm sure we can find time. Our countries are both really great, and we can see things together, and share stuff, and…." His eyes and whole face had been getting brighter and brighter as he spoke, but now he stopped and looked worried again. "I-I mean… if that's something you'd want."

So full of life and laughter. So simple and straightforward. He was an obnoxious git so much of the time… but England loved him. And the full realization that America didn't hate him—had never hated him—made his eyes mist. America had hurt him badly and caused him so much trouble… but America loved him. And wanted him back. And really, if England had been even a little understanding back then, and a little more honest, this might never have happened. He could have _helped _America become his own country. He could imagine America, hesitantly taking France's advice because he had no one else to turn to, reluctantly fighting just to be recognized as his own person. France was a bastard… but America wasn't.

England sighed. This was still difficult. The only person England had ever given his heart to was America, and America had broken it, and now America was asking to be trusted with it again. And England wanted to. That was the scariest part. "It's been an awfully long time, America."

"I know." America's voice was little more than a whisper. He looked down at the bedcover, waiting.

England stared at the surface of juice, as if it were a reflecting pool in which he could see his past. He knew he had to respond to this somehow, but it was _incredibly_ difficult. He had never felt comfortable talking about his feelings with anyone, though oddly he had shared much more with America than any other country, even after the Revolution. He supposed he could simply say he forgave America and have done, but he wasn't quite ready for that. But the thought of America going home and leaving him alone again was now so painful that _not_ reconciling was out of the question.

"I don't like to be alone," he said quietly, speaking his thoughts out loud.

America looked up, looking a little surprised.

England shook his head. "I never did. I… I pretend I do. And I do need some solitude, but being alone regularly… was never something I wanted." He glanced at America to see if he was listening. He was. England ran his finger against the side of his juice cup. "But somehow… I always managed to be alone anyway… until I met you." Well, he supposed he _had_ had the fairies, but there was so much they couldn't understand, and their ways of thinking were often so different from his own, that it was difficult to be truly friends with them. And besides, the last thing he wanted to do right now was bring up fairies and derail the whole discussion.

"I... I didn't think too much about it," he continued. "I'm not really one for moping, as a general rule." There was a bit of defensiveness in his voice. "Par… particularly not back then," he added, so he wouldn't be completely lying. Really, with America gone and no one else to keep him company, there was little to keep him occupied but his own generally morose thoughts. He was even secretly pleased now and again when France would come over and bother him. "So… I didn't even realize how lonely I was… until I started spending time with you and wasn't anymore."

England smiled a little, remembering. "You were so adorable, and so affectionate… and I thought as long as I had you by my side, I could be happy no matter what the rest of the world was like. So I swore I would protect you, and raise you properly, and give you more than you'd ever had before, even though at the time I didn't have much to give. And… I was right. I was happy… ridiculously happy. I didn't even know what to do with it, because I'd never been happy before. And then… you were growing up without me, and I couldn't be with you nearly as much as you wanted, or I wanted… and you became different from me, and I was afraid that if those differences became too strong… you would turn your back on me… and I would be alone all over again." He leaned his forehead against his fist. "So I convinced myself that all you needed was more guidance, and you would come around… and when you strained, I simply pulled back harder… I was so determined that we be together in everything… I brought about my own destruction."

"I'm sorry," America said. "I didn't know."

England shook his head, but didn't raise it from his hand. "I should have tried to understand. I should have talked with you, been honest with you… you were old enough. I should have let you be your own person. So… I'm sorry." He paused. Lack of honesty had brought about this problem to begin with, and he didn't want to make the same mistake again. "I'm… afraid now, as well. I find it hard to believe that after all this time, you would think of me with affection… even want to be my friend. Perhaps I am more likeable now that I'm not an empire, but I don't tend to like myself very much." England sighed. "I… I _want_ to trust you, America." He did. He ached to. He looked at America, meeting azure blue eyes with forest green ones. "But… well… if I forgive you, what, if anything, would make you come back to me? Are you sure you don't merely like the _idea_ of being friends? I… I don't think I could stand to lose you again."

"Hey, Iggy, it's me we're talking about. I'm the hero, and heroes never abandon their friends." He smiled, reached over, and gave England's hand a squeeze. "I haven't stopped liking you all this time. Why would I stop if we were friends?" His smile became gentler. "Seriously, England. I'm not going to leave you alone. I promise."

England tried to imagine America actually liking him all this time. He had always teased him rather mercilessly… but the teasing had never really been hostile, and America had always wanted to make up right away. He had tried to help England whenever he needed it, especially recently. And he had never—not once—abandoned the relationship, however England cursed him for it. In fact, in some ways… America really had never stopped acting like his little brother. And now he was coming to England like a man and asking to finally reconcile their differences. England was proud of him. And he believed him. "Then I forgive you," he said quietly.

America's eyes went wide. "Really?"

England felt a bit shaky, like he'd suddenly removed a large foundation of his life (which was pathetic, really). But he nodded. "Really. Can you forgive me?"

Instead of answering, America gave him a bone-crushing hug, nearly making him spill his juice. "I love you, Iggy." Suddenly, he seemed like a lad again, happy to be reconciled with his big brother. Well, after all, he was still very young. How long had he ached to be forgiven?

England smiled, set down his cup of juice with some difficulty, and held America close, the way he had when he was a child. He closed his eyes. God, he had missed this. "I love you too, America," he said. "And I always will." They hugged in silence for nearly a full minute before England spoke again. "Though I can't promise how good I'll be at being friends."

America laughed and let him go, rubbing his eyes a little. "Just don't make me eat any burnt scones, and we'll be fine."

"Why, you—" England was cut off by America playfully ruffling his hair. "Ouch… I still have a headache, you know."

"Oh, sorry."

But England was smiling as he smoothed down his hair. "Did you say you were making pancakes?"

They had a wonderful breakfast of pancakes, and by the end, England's headache was gone, so they were able to go to the Globe Theatre in time for the play. They ate a late lunch at McDonald's afterward (since America claimed to be going through withdrawal), and England made America laugh during their meal by quoting large parts of the play back to him, and complaining about how something or other on so-and-so's costume was not period appropriate.

America made curry rice for dinner, after which they finished watching _Order of the Phoenix_, and then England surprised him.

"You need to leave in the morning," he said.

"I do?"

"Of course. You need to make preparations for your party, don't you?"

"I think Canada said he would do most of it, since he knew I wanted to come here and make things right with you."

"Oh, yes, I was wondering about that… how planned was this exactly?"

"Um… I started talking to him about three weeks in advance. I mean… I wasn't trying to manipulate you or anything, but I thought… maybe staying a few days and trying to talk with you just might do something. So he taught me to make tea, and pancakes, and scones, and fish and chips, and curry rice, and stuff. Told me what things you like, and what things you don't. He said if I were quieter than usual, I'd probably be more likely to get you to listen to me."

Well, that last bit explained a lot. England shook his head. "Thank you. I had no idea you had been so thoughtful."

America smiled. "Yeah, well… it was totally worth it."

"But regardless of how much Canada is helping you, you should still go home."

America's smile faded. "But Iggy, he said I could stay with you until my birthday, and I didn't need to worry about anything."

England sighed. America was really being very difficult.

"Do you really want me to go?" America asked, looking hurt.

England rolled his eyes. "I want to get you a birthday present, you git. How am I supposed to do that if you're underfoot?"

"Oh." America blinked. "You… you mean you're…."

"Of course I'm coming, you idiot. We're friends, aren't we? Friends celebrate each other's birthdays. Ahh, America, can't you learn to hug people normally?" America had given him an enormous bear hug.

"Thank you!" America said "Thank you, thank you, thank you! And you'll stay, right? And have cake and ice cream and stuff?" He had let go, but was holding onto England's arms.

"Yes, of course."

"Yes!"

"Though if I go deaf because of your shouting, I don't know how I'll make it there."

America chuckled. "Sorry. Seriously, though, Iggy, you coming to my party and staying is the best gift ever; you don't need to get me anything."

"I _want_ to," England replied. "And you need to give me time. I can stay for a few days at your place when I come, and you need to go and get the guest room ready."

"Really?"

"_If_ you leave in the morning."

"Okay, but promise you'll stay."

"I promise."

"Great!"

"And you should call Canada. You promised to keep him posted, remember?"

"Oh… haha, you heard that? Okay, I will."

"Sounds good. I'm going to bed."

As he changed, he heard America cheerfully telling Canada about their day together, and he smiled. He was awfully glad to be back on good terms with America. He felt as though a weight he'd carried for so long, he'd nearly forgotten it existed, had suddenly been lifted off him. Why hadn't he had that conversation with America two centuries ago?

When he was sure America was asleep, he crept downstairs again and onto his computer. He had a bit of research to do if he wanted to have America's present ready by his birthday.

**OoOoOoO**

A/N: Some random culture notes (since you are, after all, a Hetalia fan):

1. British tea is seriously awesome, whether you are Iggy or just a college student trying to stay awake to cram for an exam. American tea has about as much caffeine as decaf coffee. British tea has about as much caffeine as fully caffeinated coffee, except it doesn't hit you or crash you as hard. Coffee, on the other hand, seems to be more of a New World thing, with instant coffee being more popular in Europe and Asia (Nescafé being probably the most common brand). European coffee (at least on continental Europe) tends to be very strong and (from what I've heard) not always very pleasant to the average American palette. (Think espresso shots.) By the way, I do like Nescafé, but many Americans consider it a pathetic excuse for the real thing… and even liking it, I can't really disagree. Oh, and Starbucks really is like an American Embassy (except in Japan, where all the cups mysteriously shrink).

2. The part about the squash is a personal joke… America's reaction is pretty much the same as mine was when I read about squash, the drink, in a British book. Unfortunately, I didn't have any Brits around to explain it to me, and this was before Wikipedia was in common use (oh my gosh, I feel so OLD!), so I remained confused for years until an Anglophile friend of mine introduced me to the drink, which is good, though not something I'm crazy about, personally (sorry, Iggy). It does have fruit in it, but also corn syrup. And to any British readers laughing up their sleeves—seriously, what kind of a name is "squash" anyway?

3. The part about Canada liking Shakespeare is a reference to Stratford, Ontario, which is modeled on England's Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare's hometown. Yes, I've been there, it's lovely. The Globe Theatre is in London, though. I have also been there, though I was unable to see any plays. (I travel a lot.)


	8. Chapter 8: Happy Birthday

**Disclaimer: Don't own.**

A/N: I can so see America calling England over and over again to make sure he's still coming. Sorry I skipped July 3; didn't really seem necessary.

**Chapter 8: Happy Birthday**

**July 4**

America already missed England badly, but he consoled himself that he would be seeing England that afternoon. Wait! What if England didn't remember the time of the party? Quickly, he dialed England's number.

"Hello?" came England's voice.

"Hey, it's America. You know when the party is, right?"

"Yes, it starts at noon, and that's the third bloody time you've reminded me."

"Oh… it is?"

England laughed. "Don't worry, love. I'll be there. And I still have your invitation."

"Oh, really? I thought you'd thrown it away."

"No, I'd kept it in case I felt like going."

"To deliver another spring-loaded boxing glove?" America asked, smiling.

"Something like that," England said. "Now go get ready for your party, you git."

America chuckled. "No problem. See you later!"

"Did you call him _again_?" asked Canada, coming in with an enormous tray of pancakes, complete with whipped cream, blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries… and, of course, maple syrup on the side.

"Oh my gosh, I love you," America said seriously.

Canada laughed. "Happy birthday, America. And congratulations."

"Well… I miss him," America said between huge bites of pancakes, in answer to Canada's question. "And I need to make sure he's coming."

Canada laughed again and shook his head. America had been more excited about this birthday than any of his previous ones, and Canada couldn't help being just as excited for him. They had spent the previous day preparing everything, including the guest room, and now the party would be starting in only a few hours.

The hours passed quickly, with America thinking of a thousand extra details he'd forgotten the previous day (and calling a slightly annoyed England one more time, just to make extra sure), until finally at 11:30 he declared that everything was perfect, which was good, because it was only 15 minutes later that the guests began to arrive.

America greeted his guests cheerfully and accepted their gifts, many of which had some point or joke attached to them, but most of which really would come in handy. Japan gave him some new video games, which he was _really _excited about, and France, as always, brought very good wine.

But he still hadn't seen England, and he was beginning to get worried. Had something happened? Oh, no, there he was, finally! It was already 12:15. England looked shy, standing at the door and holding a wrapped box in one hand and a gift bag in another. America instantly went to greet him, took the gifts, set them on a table, and hugged him warmly. England smiled and hugged him back.

"You're late," America said after he let go.

England shrugged. "I didn't want to arrive at the same time as France."

America gave a snort of laughter. "Come on in and have something to eat," he said, putting an arm around England's shoulders.

"Wait, open my gifts first," England said.

"Really?" America addressed his attention to the presents and read the small card first.

_Dear America,_

_Thank you for coming to stay with me and being patient enough with me that we managed to reconcile. I believe from now on, I will have good memories of this day and week. You are a great nation and a great friend, and I hope I can celebrate your birthdays with you for many years to come._

_Love and best regards,,_

_England, A.K.A. your friend, Iggy_

"Does this mean I can call you Iggy?" America asked, blinking the moisture out of his eyes.

"If you must."

"Which present should I open first?"

"The bag."

"Okay." America reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of… something. "Oh!" he said, realizing. "Is this squash?"

"Yes, I thought you should try it."

America laughed. "Hey, cool!" He reached into the bag again and pulled out a box of tea. "Oh, great! Is this the kind you drink?"

"Yes. Nothing like what you have in your stores."

America laughed again. "Thank you. I think it grew on me while I was staying at your house."

"Good," England said. "Now open the second present."

America smiled, and started to open it. "This isn't going to attack me, right?" Friends though they were, America wouldn't put it past England to pull a prank on him.

"Of course not," England said, sounding offended.

America lifted an eyebrow and took off the wrapping paper. Inside was a box, with a lid. "Okay, now I'm _really_ suspicious," America said. "Maybe I should make you lift the lid."

"Just open the box, you git," England said.

America simultaneously flipped back the lid, covered his face as something exploded at him, and heard the click of a camera. He turned to see a laughing England, then realized he wasn't in pain. He looked down at himself. He was covered in red, white, and blue confetti. Each piece was shaped like either a Star-Spangled Banner or a Union Jack. America laughed. "Nice," he said, wondering how England had managed that. He had always been rather impressed with the amount of thought England put into his gifts. He looked back at the box, moving the spring-loaded confetti sprayer aside. Underneath was a brown wicker basket with a handle. America pulled it out, curiously. It was heavy.

"Careful," England said, so America put a hand underneath the box as he pulled it out, though it looked very sturdy. He opened the clasps and pulled back the lid, bracing himself a bit, but inside was a very definite American flag design… on a tea set. There was a band of blue with white stars around the tops, and vertical red and white stripes going down the sides. America's mouth opened.

"Do… do you like it?" England asked, sounding nervous.

"Are you kidding?" America asked, his surprise turning into an expression of absolute delight. "This is SO COOL! It's even cooler than the video games Japan got me!"

England blinked, looking surprised by his reaction. "Really?"

"Totally! Where'd you get this?" he carefully pulled out a teacup. "Made in England? England makes American flag tea sets?"

"Er… if England decides to have a set custom made, yes."

"You… you custom-made… oh my gosh, Iggy, this is _so awesome_!" He pulled out the pot and turned it around in his hands. "How… how did you even… you only had a day…."

"A bit longer than that; it's later at my house, you know. There's a company that has tea sets ready made, and you can paint your own design before they go into the kiln, and then they'll glaze it for you. Anyway, they finished it this morning."

"Wait, you painted this?"

"Erm… yes."

"Seriously? I didn't know you could paint."

"Of course you did… I painted the toys I made for you when you were younger."

"Oh, _right_." Really, he should have known that. He'd brought out some of the models England had made him and put them in his room so he could look at them and think of England. "I just wasn't putting toys and tea sets together." Now that he looked more carefully, he could see that the design was hand-painted, making every tea cup a bit unique. The image blurred just a little as he imagined England painting these for him, and his throat felt a bit tight. He blinked his eyes a few times, and cleared his throat. "England… thank you so much. I didn't have my own tea set—did you know?"

"Yes, I asked Canada. I thought I should remedy that, particularly since I'll be visiting you more often, it seems. And you seem to have become rather good with a tea pot."

America laughed. "Yeah. Wow." He put back the tea pot and looked at the creamer and sugar bowl. "The sugar bowl is too small, though," he said with a grin. England swatted his forehead and he laughed. "Kidding, kidding!" He put it back. "I love the basket. It's like the picnic baskets we used to use."

"Not anymore?"

"No, now we always use thermoses and stuff… but I think I might want to use this instead."

"So… you really like the design of the tea set?"

"Yeah, it's awesome!"

England gave a sigh of relief. "Good. I was a bit worried… it's not… well… elegant, but…."

"But it's charming," America said. "And awesome-looking." He beamed, then laughed. "Though, probably not something you'd want in your kitchen?"

"No… probably not."

America smiled warmly. "I love it, Iggy. And I'll use it every time you come."

"You'll get your use out of it, then," England said, smiling, and then he gave America a hug that might have been the best gift America had received in centuries. "Happy birthday, love."

**OoO**

England and America were still together half an hour later, chatting about England's quest to find the tea set shop, and how exactly the process worked, when France found them.

"Ah, Angleterre! You came after all!"

England winced slightly at France's voice.

"I ran into Amérique the other day when he was depressed because you had kicked him out, but now I hear from Canada that you and Amérique have finally become friends. _Est-__ce vrai_?"

"Yes," England said, feeling a bit guilty. "We've come to understand each other."

"_Magnifique!_" France cried. "I was wondering when you two would stop being so… what is it Japan says? Sundry or something…."

"Tsundere," America corrected, and England remembered that America had been a fan of anime and manga for several decades now.

"Yes, of course. I was wondering when you two would stop being so sundarie and realize each other's feelings. It took you long enough."

"France, this isn't a romance," America said, lifting an eyebrow.

"_Oui_, but I am the country of love in all its forms, not simply romance. And I see love here," he said with a wink. "So I will leave you two alone for the present."

England looked up in surprise to see France wave and walk away. "Really?" he asked.

America shrugged. "Hey, he takes this stuff seriously."

"Apparently." England thought for a moment, remembering. _"Really, Angleterre… don't you think it would do you some good to go to Amérique's party? I think he misses you."_ "He… tried to tell me," England said. "Several times. Spain too. The gits ganged up on me last year to convince me to go to your party." He shook his head. "I told them they were bloody mad. You _did_ make fun of me last year."

"Sorry," America said, a bit guiltily. "I didn't think there was any way to make you happy, but I figured if I made you mad, you'd at least stop being depressed."

"Git," England muttered.

"Always," America said with a smile.

"And it's 'angry'."

America laughed. His laughter somehow sounded happier than usual today.

"Anyway, you didn't tell me you saw France."

America shrugged. "He just encouraged me not to give up. I think France likes encouraging people not to give up."

England raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he felt guilty for helping to separate us to begin with. But why go to bloody France?"

"Huh? I didn't!" America said, putting his hands up defensively. "I went to Canada, and France came to celebrate his birthday while I was there."

"Oh." England's shoulders relaxed, and he mentally kicked himself for forgetting Canada's birthday yet again.

"Aww, you were jealous?" America asked, grinning.

"Of course not, you git," England said, folding his arms. Really, he ought to stop being so sensitive about the frog.

America smiled and put an arm around England's shoulders. "Don't worry. I'll always prefer you."

Mollified, England smiled a little, then looked around. "Apparently. You're ignoring your other guests."

America shrugged. "They'll be fine."

England raised an eyebrow. "Some of them came very long distances to see you. _I'm_ spending the night, and we'll have plenty of time to spend time together. You need to be a responsible host."

America tapped England's forehead with his knuckles. "You're talking like my dad again."

"You know I'm right."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be back." America clapped him on the back and went to mingle with his other guests, and England chuckled and walked about, taking in the atmosphere and snacking a bit. He supposed America's food wasn't bad, although he didn't care much for hot dogs. Though a steady diet of this sort of food… might not be ideal. He went and talked to Canada and wished him a happy belated birthday (now that America had reminded him), feeling terrible that he didn't have a gift, but Canada seemed so pleased to be recognized for once that he didn't seem to care. England promptly invited him to spend a few days at his house, and to tour the various attractions, particularly those related to Shakespeare, and Canada accepted, beaming. Then he asked about England's time with America, and they chatted for a while. England made a mental note _not_ to get Canada confused with America when he came.

After a while, England found a large area celebrating all of America's (the country, not the person) accomplishments. There was a large section devoted to heroes. America really did have a hero complex, didn't he? England frowned at George Washington and Thomas Jefferson… then stopped frowning. He began to look at all the heroes and events and accomplishments in a different light. These were what had made America what he was, and England was surprised to realize that he did not _want_ America to be like him. He wanted America to be himself. He liked America the way he was, even if he wouldn't have designed him that way.

"Do you know you've been smiling like, ever since you got here?" came America's voice behind him.

Startled, England turned around and smiled again. "Have I?"

"Yep. You've got a nice smile. What are you looking at?" he asked curiously. "Oh, my Wall of Heroes."

England smirked. "You know, most people would just call it a Wall of Fame."

"Yeah, but that sounds stuffy. Besides, not all these people are famous. But they're _definitely_ all heroes. Why the sudden interest?"

England shrugged a little. "I'm getting to know you again… as the country you are, rather than the colony I planned for you to be."

"Yeah? What do you think?"

England didn't answer immediately. He smiled and turned back to the wall. "You know, America… I can't really stop thinking of you as my younger brother all in a day."

"Oh yeah?"

"So… perhaps I may think of you as my younger brother who's grown up?"

"Sure, I guess that works for me… long as you'll still be friends on a man-to-man basis."

"Of course," England replied. "But… may I say something, as your older brother?"

"Yeah, sure."

England's smile broadened. "I'm proud of you, America."

America's eyes widened, and then looked touched as he broke into an enormous smile. Obviously, he hadn't stopped thinking of England as his older brother all in a day either. He drew England into an enormous warm, tight hug, which England happily returned.

**The End**

**OoOoOoO**

A/N: So, what do you think? Any suggestions for improvement? I love reviews! :-)


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